


Rivalries

by pasiphile



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwart’s latest Quidditch match is the catalyst that creates waves throughout the school and the people in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rivalries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bisexualcyborg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualcyborg/gifts).



> For Sarah's (girlwith1oneeye) birthday back in November. Sorry it took so long to post, babe!

**I**

“You shouldn't be here,” Sherlock said, not looking up from his book.

God knows how he knew it was John. All those years and he still hadn’t worked out how Sherlock did it. Maybe he’d memorised the exact sound of John’s sneakers, or the smell of his robes. Or maybe he’d put a tracking spell on John, that would be a very Sherlock-thing to do.

John shook his head and settled down slowly on the floor next to him, careful not to jostle his bad leg. “Why shouldn’t I be here?”

“Ravenclaw and Gryffindor aren't natural allies at the best of times. The last Quidditch game made it mathematically imperative that Gryffindor loses against Slytherin, if Ravenclaw wants any chance at the Cup. Tensions are running high.” He finally glanced at John. “You're displaying disloyalty to your House.”

John shrugged. “It's just a game.”

Sherlock snorted and went back to his book. “If you really do think that, you're even more unobservant than I thought.”

“Anyway, it isn't like I'm hanging out with Slytherins, is it? And everyone knows you have nothing to do with the Quidditch team.”

Sherlock hummed and flipped a page. “True enough.”

John smiled and looked down at his hands.

The common opinion on Sherlock was that he should have had a House of his own, although everyone agreed that if they had to choose, Sherlock belonged best in Ravenclaw. Too calculating for Gryffindor, too lazy for Slytherin, too big of a bastard for Hufflepuff. And everyone knew how scarily  _smart_  Sherlock was.

 _John_ was of the opinion that Sherlock should have been in Gryffindor, despite Sherlock’s general disdain for the house, because he knew exactly how stupidly  _brave_ Sherlock could be, if it came to some things.

John coughed. “You shouldn’t - ”

“Oy!” Sally Donovan strode down the corridor, prefect's badge shining on her chest. “We've got Transfiguration in two minutes, and I don't want us to lose even more points because you couldn't tear yourself away from your boyfriend.”

Sherlock smirked at his book. “Jealous, Sally?”

“Fuck off,” she said, offhandedly. It had almost become a habit for Sally, slagging off Sherlock. Not that he could really blame her, with the way Sherlock kept sneering at her whenever she tried to do her prefect duties.

She turned back to John. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He got up laboriously. “Anyway, I'll make the House proud tomorrow.”

Sally snorted. “I'll believe that when I see it.”

“Your faith in your own team is truly inspiring,” Sherlock said, mocking.

Sally narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah? Maybe if you did as Slytherin did and combined your disgusting brain with your team, the damn Slytherins could be beaten for once.”

“I'm surprised you don't think Gryffindor can win,” Sherlock said, raising a mocking eyebrow.

“Right now I'd do anything if it could wipe that damn smirk of Moran's face, even if it means striking deals with  _you_.”

“Coming, Sally?” John said quickly, before this could escalate.

“Yeah.” She turned with one with one last glare in Sherlock's direction, and John followed, sighing in relief. Six years of trying to be Sherlock’s keeper had made him a bit of an expert on how to handle him, but it was still tricky. Sherlock had never learned to just  _back down_.

John looked over his shoulder. Sherlock was looking back at his book, but even at this distance he could see his slight smile.

Daft sod.

 

**II**

The door to the Slytherin common room banged open. The candles flickered in the sudden breeze and several students looked up in annoyance, only to freeze when they realised who had come in. There was a sudden shuffling and coughing, and the students with a more developed sense of self-preservation surreptitiously disappeared to their dormitories. After all, they all knew that whenever the unofficial king and queen of Slytherin clashed, sparks would fly – often literal ones. And Irene's eyes were burning.

She crossed the room, high heels clacking harshly against the stone floor, her indecently short skirt swaying. Jim was sprawled in one of the better chairs, one leg dangling over the armrest, flipping through the pages of a book at an alarming speed.

“Something the matter, Irene dear?” he asked smoothly.

“Are you playing fair?”

He looked up and smirked. “Am I ever?”

Irene put both her hands on the armrests and leaned in close. Another few watchers scuttled away to the relative safety of their dormitories.

“I have a lot of money riding on this match,” Irene whispered, only an inch or two from Jim’s face. “If you're thinking of playing  _games_ , Jim...”

“What, and jeopardise the success of my House?” He put a theatrical hand to his chest. “I am shocked, Irene,  _shocked_ , that you would think so little of me.”

“Just make sure your boy is well-trained.”

Jim shrugged, unconcerned. “Seb knows what he's doing.” He grinned suddenly. “Speaking of, managed to weasel your way into a pureblood line yet?”

“A lady never tells.” She straightened up and fingers went to her wand.

“Still think you have a chance, do you?” Jim asked lazily. “As if they'd ever accept someone like  _you_  into their midst.”

“Someone like  _us_ , you mean,” Irene replied, smiling.

Jim's smirk grew. The last remaining spectators disappeared.

“I'm not interested in  _being accepted_ ,” he said. “And I've already got myself a pureblood on a leash.” He tilted his head. “Unlike you. You really need to step up, Irene, you're falling behind.”

“Don't worry about me.” She leaned in again and kissed Jim's cheek. “And if we somehow manage to lose the match I'm going to find your boy and hex him into oblivion,” she added sweetly.

“We won't.” He stretched. “I never mess up.”

 

**III**

Sherlock sat down cross-legged on the grass. He hated the stadium, the screaming and the bodies pressing in from all sides and the incessant  _hysterics_. He could see all he needed from his little hill with his omnioculars, like John suddenly going into a dive to protect Soo Lin, who'd obviously spotted the Snitch.

Their effort was unfortunately spoiled by Moran launching a Bludger at Gryffindor's Seeker, hard enough to knock her off her broomstick. Luckily she was close enough to the ground by then to prevent any serious injury, but John had turned around and was now shouting at both Moran and the referee.

“He's always so  _protective_  of his team, isn't he?”

Sherlock looked up. Moriarty had sneaked up unnoticed, was now standing right next to Sherlock, smiling down indulgently.

“Unlike Slytherin's captain,” Sherlock said, calmly.

“You're right,  _protective_ isn't the word I'd use for Seb.”

“Tyrant?”

Moriarty clucked his tongue. “ _Dominant_. He knows what he wants and how to get it, it's an admirable quality.” He tilted his head. “There's a  _reason_ why Slytherin hasn't lost a match in four years, you know.”

“Blackmail, threats, and sabotage?”

“I couldn't  _possibly_  comment,” Moriarty drawled. “Anyway, I’m surprised you’re here. I would have thought you had more important things to do.”

Sherlock felt a chill run down his spine. He couldn’t know. Could he? He’d been so careful…

“All those letters, that practicing…” Moriarty continued. His eyes seemed glued to Sherlock’s face. “Not that it will work, of course. A  _house elf_ has more of a chance of being accepted for Auror training than you.”

Sherlock bit his tongue. The worst thing was that Moriarty was right, and Sherlock had known it, and yet he hadn’t stopped trying to get accepted. It was what he was  _meant_  to do, after all, if only they could see that…

“What was the verdict? Too emotionally unstable? Lack of empathy?” Moriarty pulled a mock-sympathetic face. “Not even your brother is enough to wipe away that particular test result, is he?”

Sherlock shrugged. “If they’re fools enough not to see how much use I could be to them, I doubt I’d ever had been happy to work there.”

“Your worth wouldn’t be appreciated, that’s true. And it might be for the best, really,” Moriarty said, still staring at Sherlock with a lizard-like focus. “Things are going to get very interesting the next few years. And it’s a dangerous job, isn’t it? Auror?”

“It has it risks,” Sherlock said coolly.

Moriarty reached out and grasped Sherlock’s chin, tilting his head up. Pulling away would amount to giving Moriarty victory, and Sherlock wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction. “And you like risks, don’t you?” Moriarty said softly.

Sherlock stared back in silence, refusing to look away.

Moriarty grinned - too wide, baring his teeth, the same grin that kept showing up on Sherlock’s boggart - and winked. “Take care, Sherlock Holmes.”

He let go of Sherlock’s chin and strolled back down the hill. Sherlock took a deep breath, tried to stop his hands shaking.

And over at the stadium there was another collective groan as Slytherin managed to prevent yet another goal.

 

**IV**

Molly paused in front of the doors to the Great Hall. No matter how many times she had done this in the last six years, it never stopped being a little scary.

“Dithering?”

Molly spun around. Irene was standing a few yards away, eyebrows raised, the usual mocking smile on her face.

“Heaven knows why, sweetheart, there aren't many who notice when you come and go.”

Molly bit her lip. Irene always left her speechless, even more so than Sherlock or Jim.

She brushed past and leaned close to Molly, for just a second. “Their loss,” she whispered, and with one last wink she swept into the Hall. She was immediately hailed by a few of her fellow Slytherins.

Molly entered far more quietly. She went to her table, trying to find a free spot, but Sarah waved her over before she could find one. She smiled and sat down.

“Lively tonight,” she said, looking around the hall.

The Ravenclaws were in little clusters, mostly whispering, though some of them were getting a little heated in their arguing. The Gryffindors were morose and silent, staring at their food. But it were the Slytherins who were the most raucous: they were celebrating, singing loudly, clapping each other on the back. Irene was sitting at the side, smirking and distant. And at the centre of the table were Jim and Sebastian, who –

Who were apparently trying to see how far the restrictions on indecent behaviour went. Molly blinked, her mouth hanging open. Somewhere along the line Jim had grabbed Seb around the middle and started kissing him, and as Molly watched they over-balanced, Seb hitting the table with his shoulders. The other Slytherins starting cheering, although more than a few were looking disgusted.

But their behaviour hadn’t gone unnoticed. Professor Stapleton quickly left the professors’ table, swept in and pulled them apart. For a second it seemed like Jim would pull his wand, but then he grinned and raised his arms. Molly couldn't hear what he said, but all the surrounding students started laughing. Stapleton looked less amused.

“Merlin save me from hormonal teenage boys,” a voice said behind Molly. She turned around. Mrs Hudson was just strolling past, talking quietly to Professor Lestrade. “Do you think we'll get complaints from the parents of traumatised first years again?”

“God, I hope not. Although I suppose we should be glad the bloody Prophet didn't publish anything about it.”

Mrs Hudson frowned in concern. “Oh, they wouldn't, would they?”

“Of course they would,” Lestrade snorted. “I'm willing to bet the only thing stopping them is Augustus Moran breathing down their necks.”

And then they were too far away to eavesdrop. It hadn’t been that interesting, really: everyone knew about Sebastian’s influential father, and the traumatised first-years had been the talk of the school back in October.

Molly turned back to Sarah. “So how did your essay turn out?”

“Excellent, thanks for asking. Got a compliment, even.” Sarah smiled proudly. “Professor Stapleton said if I continue like this for Herbology I’ve got my Outstanding, and the others are pretty much in the bag too.”

“You’ll make a good Healer,” Molly said, smiling shyly. “And at least you’ll know someone there, right?”

Sarah reached for the toast. “What, John?” she said absently. “No, he changed his mind again, he’s going for Auror.”

Molly blinked. “Really? I thought - he seemed pretty certain he wanted to Heal.”

“Apparently he’s afraid it will lack excitement. And speaking of the devil…” She sat up and waved, and John came over to them. He was trying to smile, but mostly failing.

“Buck up, John,” Sarah said, kindly. “You did the best you could. The Slytherins are cheating bastards, everyone knows that.”

His smile turned a bit more genuine. “Thanks. Erm... Has either of you seen Sherlock, by any chance?”

Sarah shook her head, but Molly quickly said, “Around this time he'll either be in the astronomy tower or the library.”

John blinked. Molly blushed. “I mean, I think. Sorry.”

“Right,” John said, still looking a bit surprised. “Thanks, Molly. I’ll go see if I can find him.”

He left. Sarah sent Molly a very patient look.

“Pity it never worked out between you two,” Molly said, in an attempt to draw attention away from her fiery cheeks.

“What, me and John?” Sarah shrugged. “There's only one person for him. It's just a question of how long he needs before he realises it.”

 

**V**

Still nothing. Sherlock strode the hall, fuming quietly. He’d been waiting for  _weeks_  for a reply and still nothing. Even if they did refuse him again, the least they could was let him  _know._ It was -

A hand caught his wrist. Sherlock went tense reflexively before relaxing when he realised it was John. He let himself be pulled into the relative privacy of an alcove.

“John,” he said dryly. “Something the matter?”

“What were you talking about with Moriarty?” John asked, looking… odd. Intense. “During the match?”

Sherlock shrugged. “The usual. Bragging, ominous threats. Why?”

“Sherlock - ” John's mouth went thin. “People are slandering you already  _without_ you having a nice chat with the biggest piece of scum in the entire school. Can't you - ”

Sherlock frowned. “What, ignore him? Why do you care?”

“Because I - ” He looked away, frowning.

Was John angry? But why? Although it seemed more like frustration than true anger, and John didn't deal well with frustration, he tended to lash out. “If you're worried about my reputation damaging yours you can - “

“Oh blast it,” John said, and he reached for Sherlock's neck and pulled him down.

Kissing. John was – was kissing him. Lips surprisingly soft against his, a slight hint of stubble, and his hand, warm and slightly sweaty, on the back of Sherlock's neck. And it was -

was -

John pulled away. His eyes were large and a little panicked. “Oh fuck. Sherlock, I'm – I'm. You know what, I'm  _not_ sorry, but are you...” He stammered to a halt.

Sherlock thoughtfully touched his lips. They still tingled a bit. “I'm fine.”

John breathed out heavily. “You are?”

“Yes, absolutely fine.” He finally looked up again, met John's eyes. “Do that again,” he said, and John grinned and pulled Sherlock down.

 

**VI**

The click of Irene's heels echoed through Slytherin's common room. It was quiet; the sun was out and most people were outside, basking. The only one still inside was Anthea, reclining in the sofa and reading.

“Where are they?” Irene asked.

Anthea waved a lazy hand at the dormitories. “I wouldn't bother, they locked the door.”

Irene rolled her eyes and went up the stairs to the seventh-year dormitories. As expected, the door was locked with something far more complex than a simple Alohomora would fix, and it wasn't exactly Irene's style to simply blow to door from its hinges. But Jim might be terrifyingly skilled at hexing and curses, Irene could still one-up him when it came to the subtler kind of charms.

So it didn't take long before she'd managed to unlock the door. It gave a discreet click and Irene slipped inside, neatly locking the door again behind her.

Jim was in bed, shirt hanging open, covered from the waist down by his sheet. There was a suspiciously large lump underneath the sheet.

“Hello Jim,” Irene said calmly. “And Sebastian.”

The lump moved, and a hand found its way from underneath the sheets and waved at her.

“Something you wanted?” Jim asked archly. “I am rather busy.”

“I can see that.” She walked closer and sat down on the bed next to Jim's. “I'm here to talk business, and I prefer to do that in private.”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “What kind of business?” he asked, voice perfectly steady – you had to admire his self-control.

“The mutually beneficial kind.”

Jim frowned a bit more at her, and then his hand disappeared beneath the sheets, doing –  _something_ , which resulted in a muffled  _ouch_ coming from beneath the bedding _._

The lump underneath the sheets moved, and suddenly the bedding was thrown aside and Sebastian emerged, looking slightly rumpled. The corners of his mouth were red, lips slightly swollen and wet – no prizes for guessing what he'd been up to.

“I'm listening,” Jim said.

Irene looked back at him and crossed her arms. “I need your contacts.”

“What contacts?” Jim asked innocently.

“ _Jim_ ,” Irene purred. “Please don’t assume I’m an idiot.”

Sebastian laughed. Jim kicked him, without looking away from Irene. “And I'm assuming you think I need something from you as well?”

“My charms.” She smiled at him. Jim snorted in reply.

“I've got plenty of charm of my own, thank you,” he said.

Irene let her smile grow sly. “I don't doubt that, but there are places a girl like me can get that you won't ever be allowed in.”

Jim opened his mouth to reply, but before he could Sebastian said, “She's got a point.”

Irene arched her eyebrow and gave him a level look. “Do I?”

He shrugged. “There are enough stupid twats around who'll think you're harmless because you're attractive. And - ” He grinned. “There's apparently something appealingly transgressive about bedding a mudblood.”

Irene blinked. The insult had fallen casually into the conversation, without any of the disgust or superiority she was used to hearing. But then again, Sebastian and Jim... They had always taken great pleasure in breaking every single unspoken rule of the Wizarding elite, even flaunting their transgressions in front of everyone. 

“So you’d probably have little difficulty getting valuable information out of rich influential idiots,” Sebastian continued. He exchanged a significant look with Jim. Ah, so they already had a specific rich influential idiot in mind, had they?

“I’d be more than willing to help”, she said graciously.

Jim drummed his fingers on the duvet, lips pursed in thought. “A partnership, then?” he said after a minute or so of considering.

Irene gave him one of her best smiles. “Something like it. Why don’t we give it a go, hmm?”

“And why would I believe you won’t stab me in the back the second it’s to your advantage?”

“You’ve got someone watching your back,” Irene said with a glance at Sebastian. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll make sure it won’t ever be to my advantage.”

“Fair point.” He offered his hand. “Let’s call it a  _trial period_.”

“Lovely.” Irene took his hand - cool, dry - and shook it. “So, my rich idiot to seduce?”

“Barrymore,” Jim said. “Works for the Ministry, in charge of a very interesting project called _Baskerville_ , but it’s very well protected, no information leaks so far.”

She nodded. “Anything you can tell me about him?”

“He’s the military type.” Jim smiled suggestively. “Very fond of _discipline_.”

“Ah, then we’ll get along _splendidly_ , I’m sure. I’ll keep you informed.” She stood up and straightened her skirt. “Well then, I’ll leave you to it?”

“If you don’t mind,” Jim said, eyes lidded. He grabbed Sebastian’s neck and pushed him back underneath the sheets.

“Have fun!” Irene called over her shoulder when she reached the door.

“We will,” Jim replied.

She neatly closed and locked the door behind her, cutting of the sound of Jim’s voice mid-groan.

 

**VII**

Mycroft was not having a good day.

First the embarrassment of having a Hogwarts owl arrive in the middle of an important meeting, then the resulting shuffle in his diary to make room for a quick visit to the school, followed by Sherlock's sullen looks and curt answers, and to top it off the usual condescending speech from the Headmaster about how  _important_ it was that Sherlock learned obedience. As if Mycroft didn't know that, as if he hadn't tried everything he could think of to instil that into Sherlock's stubborn little head.

And just when he thought his day couldn't get worse...

Two boys came around the corner, laughing together, although they skidded to a halt when they saw Mycroft. He recognised them. The Aurors already had files on them, although at this point it was merely background and conjecture. And Anthea kept him up to date of all the common room rumours about them, of course – best decision he’d had in a long time, recruiting a Slytherin still at school.

“Mr Holmes!” the smallest of the two said, delighted. “Fancy meeting you here!” He leaned forward and asked, in a confidential mock-whisper, “Has Sherlock been naughty again?”

“Mr Moriarty,” Mycroft said stiffly. “And Mr Moran.”

“Pleasure,” the other boy said dryly. “Ah, maybe you can tell me: how's my father? Has he actually got around to disowning me yet or is he still simply pretending I don't exist?”

But before Mycroft could answer Moriarty had turned to Moran, his face a mask of surprise, and said, “Why, what did you do?”

Moran turned seriously to Moriarty. “Apparently it isn't the  _done thing_ to associate with mudbloods.”

Moriarty pulled a concerned face and turned back to Mycroft. “Oh dear, what a world we live in, hm, Mr Holmes?”

“A complex one. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He pushed past them.

“How’s Bruce Partington doing?” Moriarty said loudly.

Mycroft paused. He turned around again, heart beating far too quickly. “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” he said, fighting to keep his voice calm.

“Bruce?” Moriarty said, frowning. “Bruce Partington? Bruce Partington the experimental spellcaster, who was supposed to have done some  _very_ important work for the Ministry but has suddenly disappeared, and his notes along with him? Still doesn’t ring a bell?”

“Fraid not,” Mycroft said coolly, trying to suppress his disquiet. They knew, but  _how_? That information was classified, only accessible to those with the highest possible security clearance. Sherlock, maybe? Had he copied Mycroft’s security pass again?

“Don’t worry,” Moriarty said. “I’m sure he’ll turn up soon enough. Although…” He grinned. “Maybe not in  _quite_ as good a condition as when you last saw him.”

"You really should start keeping better track of your employees," Sebastian added, smirking. He gave Mycroft a mocking bow. “Good afternoon, Mr Holmes. So nice to have met you.”

They left, laughing. Mycroft suppressed a shudder. Seventeen years old. In only a few months’ time those two would be let loose in the world, Merlin help them all.

He sighed and turned the corner, and bumped into someone. A hand caught his shoulder just in time to prevent him from stumbling.

“I do apologise,” Mycroft said quickly.

“No problem.” Professor Lestrade gave him a kind grin. “No need to ask what brings you here. What's he done this time?”

Usually Mycroft would have hated discussing Sherlock with anyone else, but Greg, well, he didn't mind Greg. “Something involving clandestine potions experiments on first-years in exchange for exam answers, apparently.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “He never bloody learns, does he? So - ” he smiled again, “Need to go back to the office, I suppose? Or have you got time for a cuppa? Or something stronger? You look like you could do with it.”

Mycroft hesitated, and then thought,  _why not_. He deserved a spot of self-indulgence, after the day he’d had. “Go on then, nothing wrong with a good glass of Firewhisky.”

“Exactly.” Greg clapped him on the shoulder and led him to his rooms. “I do try to keep an eye on him, you know,” he said.

“I know, I appreciate it. But Sherlock is…”

“A pain in the arse?” Greg suggested.

Mycroft smiled. “I was going to say  _difficult_. But yes, he is.”

Greg stopped in front of his door and reached for the doorknob. “Here we - ”

Mycroft froze. Greg muttered  _fucking hell_ beneath his breath.

And Sherlock, head sticking out above John’s shoulder, face flushed and hair messed-up, said, “Ah, Lestrade. Wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“Sherlock,” Greg said, dangerously quiet. “What are you and John doing on my desk?”

“It was the only private place available at the moment,” Sherlock said defensively. “And we were going to clean up after ourselves, you wouldn’t have noticed - ”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft snapped. “Out.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but slid of the desk. He took John’s wrist - John, who had been determinedly staring at the back wall, who had gone a very deep shade of red and was frantically avoiding both Greg’s and Mycroft’s eyes - and pulled him outside.

The door fell closed.

“I’m sorry about this,” Mycroft said, sighing. “I’m - ”

“He’s just your brother, Mycroft,” Greg said, stopping him. “You’re not responsible for everything he does.”

“Aren’t I?”

“No.” Greg turned around and went to a cupboard. “Anyway, it could have been worse. They could have raided the drinks cabinet.”

“Small mercies, I suppose,” Mycroft said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“We’ll take what we’re given.” Greg poured a glass and handed it over to Mycroft, their fingers brushing. “To your infuriating but brilliant brother,” he said, raising his glass in a toast.

“To the future,” Mycroft added. “And whatever it may hold.”

 

 **Epilogue**

There was small, transparent window hovering in the air of the supply closet, offering a view of the corridor outside.

It had been a tricky little charm to learn, subtle and subdued, not nearly flashy enough for either Sherlock or Jim to bother with. No, they went for the big, spectacular things, ignoring neat little tricks like this one. Their loss.

It was excellent, for example, for keeping an eye on one’s surrounding when one was doing slightly-illegal things with a fellow student in a closet in one of the main halls.

“Shush,” she purred as Molly squirmed again. “You’ll only attract someone’s attention.”

“Sorry,” Molly whispered back.

Irene gave her a reassuring pat on the back and kissed her way down Molly’s jaw to her throat. Molly tilted her head back, giving Irene access, but then suddenly her fingers tightened around Irene’s arms.

Irene glanced up. Molly had turned a rather lovely shade of pink. Irene pulled away from Molly’s neck and looked at her little window, showing the outside of the corridor.

Jim and Sebastian seemed to be just outside, opposite their closet. Jim had Sebastian pressed against the wall and was kissing him hungrily, one hand disappearing from view between their bodies.

And in open view, too. She clucked her tongue and turned back to Molly, considering. Her and Jim had had a bit of a … _thing_ , hadn’t they? Although even Irene’s rather extensive and creative imagination balked at the idea of those two together.

But then they took off and Molly concentrated on Irene again. “Sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t – ”

Irene cut her off with a kiss, and Molly obligingly shut up and threw her arms around Irene’s waist.

The girl was still a bit tense, though, and it took quite a bit of careful stroking and caressing before Molly relaxed with a sigh and she gently pulled Irene’s hand underneath her sweater. Irene drew her thumb over the soft skin of Molly’s waist and smiled when Molly shivered and arched her back a little.

And then Molly went tense again. Irene sighed. “What’s it this time?” she said, looking first at Molly’s flushed, wide-eyed face and then at her window.

Sherlock and John had stumbled out of Professor Lestrade’s office, both of them half-undressed, pink-cheeked, and looking more than a little flustered.

Irene blinked and cocked her head. So Sherlock had finally given in, had he? And he painted a rather marvellous picture like that, open shirt revealing a strip of pale stomach and chest, his eyes alight with a challenging fire she’d only seen before when he got into arguments with professors.

John was saying something, but she couldn’t make out what: her little window only showed images, not sound – at least, no yet. But then Sherlock rolled his eyes, grabbed John’s neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

Molly whimpered.

“Well, who’d have thought,” Irene mused, and then she spared a glance for Molly. The poor thing had gone bright red at the sight of her long-time crush getting dirty with his best friend. But she didn’t look that disappointed. She had to know her crush was mostly unrequited, hadn’t she?

“I’m sorry, Molly dear,” Irene murmured.

Molly shook her head and tore her eyes away from the window. “No, it’s fine. I – I always knew I – I mean…” She peeked at the window again. John had pulled Sherlock off again, trying to look disapproving but mostly failing because of the massive grin on his face. “John makes him happy.”

“Hmm, certainly seems so,” Irene replied with a speculative look at Sherlock’s crotch. But then the boys both turned away and left the window’s view.

“There,” Irene said, turning back to Molly. “Let’s hope we’ll have no more interruptions, shall we?”

Molly nodded and hopped onto the table, legs spread. Irene grinned and stepped between the girl’s legs, cradled her head and sought her soft mouth with her own. It could be her imagination, but Molly’s kisses seemed to be a bit more heated than before. Could she be a bit of a voyeur? Possibly, it always were the quiet ones.

Irene slid her hand up Molly’s bare thigh and the girl moaned. Irene smiled. Honestly, she should have done this _ages_ ago. She kissed Molly’s collarbone and worked her other hand underneath the girl’s shirt. Molly whimpered in response, biting her lip.

Irene pulled back a little, watching here. “Still with me, Molly?”

Molly leaned back on her hands and smiled at Irene, happy and flushed and panting a little. “Yes. Do you – ”

And then she stopped andfroze again, with a quiet _oh_ of surprise.

Irene groaned. “Who is it this time? Mrs Hudson and Angelo?”

“Um. No,” Molly squeaked.

Irene turned and looked at the window, and thought _well_.

Mycroft Holmes looked positively _dishevelled_ by his standards, tie loose, jacket off, a blush giving his colourless face life for once. Professor Lestrade meanwhile looked as well put-together as he always did, leaning casually in the doorway,  although the smirk on his face seemed exceptionally smug.

“They _haven’t_ ,” Irene breathed in delight. “Have they?”

“I think so,” Molly said, her voice still a little higher than usual.

“The Iceman and good old Greg?”

Molly nodded, mutely. She was staring rather fixedly at Professor Lestrade, who was currently leaning in close into Mycroft’s personal space. Hadn’t Molly had a bit of a thing for Lestrade as well? Yes, she still remembered Molly turning bright red and stammering the last time Lestrade had complimented her on her excellent knowledge on ghouls.

Poor girl, all her fantasies parading around looking all sex-smudged and scrumptiously déshabillé, she must be overcome with lust.

“Well, it’s certainly a busy day for Hogwarts, isn’t it?” Irene mused as they watched Mycroft leave and Lestrade step back into his office.

“Do you think it’s some kind of spell?” Molly asked.

Irene focused back on her. “No, it’s just hormones. And speaking of…”

Molly gave her a shy smile and gently pulled her in for another kiss. Irene carefully stroked the girl’s spine, determined to put all thoughts of boys and men from Molly’s head. Molly moaned and crossed her ankles behind Irene's back, palm smoothing over Irene's back.

There were no futher interruptions. 


End file.
